One stop gone
by Ioik
Summary: Its the 70's and Rorschach's having a hard time picking his fights when a drunken woman comes to town.
1. Chapter 1 Brawls, balls and Blue sky

**To fully enjoy this story you will need to have ready to play particular songs for each chapter. YouTube is your friend. Believe me it changes the entire experience.**

**Please make available:**

**Electric light orchestra (ELO) – Mr Blue Sky **

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**Chapter 1 Brawls, balls and blue sky**

Stepping from the blood soaked alleyway, a jumble of warped bodies left in his wake to continue decomposing into the city's shaky foundations, a man in a fedora hat popped his collar and grunted dismissively at the cold night air. Hands firmly trenched inside tough leather pockets, of a coat that had seen better days, the man born from the alley began a stride impossibly large for his short legs down the dimly lit street.

A number of the night's queens began their squalling catcalls, darting in and out of the safety of the lamplight, and surrounding the lone man in their dark and seedy shadows though never daring enough to initiate contact. He ignored their scantily clad bodies, seductive gestures and offers of pleasant hourly rated adventures. None of their world, their sex and lies, created the single most droplet of desire and curiosity. Instead it bred a mutinous contempt that swam through his veins and refuelled his internal batteries for the next mindless assault on the criminals and degenerates who prowled the streets in search of prey.

Finally reaching his destination, he whipped a hand from the safety of his pocket and applied more pressure than was probably necessary on the well-worn door of Happy Harry's, causing it to snap open with a dull thud.

"Rorschach!" The proprietor, Harry himself, shouted as if announcing to the bar in general to flee. "How can we help you tonight? Drink? It's on the house. Nuts? Yeah I'm sure you like nuts. Everybody loves nuts. Or maybe so-"

"Need information." The gravelly voice penetrated the air, causing the shaking man behind the bar to flutter his eyelids in almost a feint.

"Please," Harry lowered his voice as if talking to a cute but dangerous puppy, "don't kill them here."

Rorschach grunted in morbid amusement at the barmen's request as his eyes scoped the terrified orgy of drinkers attempting to scrunch their bodies inwards and bury their faces in pint sized glasses.

"There was a murder tonight." The vigilante continued, watching for signs of a future informant's discomfort. "Young woman. Norah Vanguard."

Nothing. Nobody flinched at his words, they only continued to shrink lower under the tables. Somebody knew something. He could sense it, taste the guilt in the air and see the horrors in the downcast eyes finding great deliberation in the golden hues of beverages. Somewhere to his right, Rorschach heard a deliberate sigh followed by the scraping of a chair and the subdued thud of heel to floor. He cocked his head neatly to watch the figure retreating to a jukebox against the far right wall, tugging a coin from faded workers jeans and placing it teasingly into the hungry machine's slot.

A moment passed as fingers danced thoughtfully over the glass case trying to decide on which chart topper to engulf the eerie silence created by the masked figure in the doorway.

Deciding to ignore the contemplating woman, an unusual sight at Happy Harry's, the vigilante continued his interrogation of the crowd.

"Stabbed eight times. Raped. Apartment robbed." Keen eyes continued to search the unwavering patrons as the clunk of the jukebox announced the lady's choice soon to begin. "Happened on 12th."

A nervous cough caught his attention as an overzealous repeating piano began the introduction to 'Mr Blue Sky' by Electric Light Orchestra. He turned his head sharply to watch the woman's shocked expression quickly find solace in a new direction out of his eye line. Watching her slender fingers tighten into a fist, before her body pivoted on the spot and directed her back to an empty chair, Rorschach began his advance.

Taking a sip of her beer, her eyebrows knotted in annoyance, as the vigilante paused to tower over. His menacing shadow drenched her in his presence as she dropped the empty vessel on the table and began to circle the glass's rim with a bored finger.

"Know something?" The rusty voice dared her to disagree.

"Know a lot of things." She complied, to his aggravation.

"Rorschach, please don't hurt my only female customer in years." Harry began to plead. "Why don't you take it out on Larry? I'm sure he knows about something dodgy."

"Hey!" The voice of Larry suddenly emerged before its owner could quiet it.

"Don't need information about whores and petty thefts tonight. Need information about Norah Vanguard." The vigilante growled, taking a swipe at the glass in front of the woman and sending it crashing against the bar. "What do you know?"

"Don't know nothi-" She was suddenly violently dragged up by her throat and left to dangle a few seconds in confusion before being tossed to the side like a ragdoll.

Her body hit a neighbouring table, causing it to flip over and land on top of her, patron's glasses smashing around her crumpled form. The smell of alcohol that now drenched her hair and clothes was enough to make her angry, but when she tasted the warm copper of blood trickling from her forehead, she became livid. Shooting up to stand, table now raised above her head, she hurled the piece of furniture at her masked assailant, catching him square in the chest and bowling him backwards.

A sudden cheer punctuated the bar, as criminals and patrons rejoiced at seeing their menace get what he normally dished out. The moment of jubilation was as quickly overturned as the table Rorschach was laying beneath and the patrons soon returned to slinking down into their chairs whilst keeping sly eyes on the brawl.

"Son of a bitch made me bleed!" The woman fumed as the vigilante pushed the table aside with a grunt.

"Should have answered." He dived forward, catching the woman's arm and spinning her around before colliding her head with another table. "Now I'll have to break some fingers to get information."

"I don't have any fucking information." The woman cursed as her vision blurred from the impact with the table.

"Soon find out."

He applied pressure with his elbow on the woman's back to halt her struggling, still gripping her captured wrist tight enough to bruise. As his free hand began to snake its way in-between her closed finger, ready to snap them back one at a time, he wasn't expecting the well placed kick to his shins followed sharply by another to the groin.

As the uncomfortable pain etched out of his mouth in a low grunt, the woman took advantage of the masked assailant's weakened state, and pushed herself up with enough force to slam the back of her head into his nose. Quickly pivoting on one foot to turn the tables on the grip he continued to exert on her right arm, she used the momentum to twist his clinging appendage from its socket before delivering a consecutive blow to his stomach.

Winded and damaged, Rorschach quickly reclaimed his senses and brought his knee up into the woman's chin, creating a splatter of blood to cascade against his mask from the impact of teeth to lip, followed sharply by a blow from his good arm knocking the woman onto the flat of her back across the table.

Groaning from the burning friction caused from the bare skin, now showing under her tangled vest, sliding along the table, and the bruise currently swelling into fiery life on her cheek, she hopped up onto her haunches and dived at the vigilante already in a defensive position but too damaged to prevent the inevitable force bowling him to the floor.

With his still working arm, he tried to block as many of the punches the angry woman dealt into his face whilst straddling him on the floor. For a moment he found himself in awe at the power behind those blows before managing to catch one of her wrists and fling her form over his head using her own violent momentum. Landing head first into the ground, the woman took a second to remember where she was as Rorschach began to mount himself onto shaky legs. She quickly followed suit, standing ready as he lunged for her, fist desperate to make contact with something soft and sensitive. But she crouched at the last minute, lodging a palm under his armpit and along his wrist, countering his weight forward and over the top of the bar.

Glass shattered around the vigilante and the soft cushion of Happy Harry he'd thankfully landed on, as the cursing voice of the woman bellowed something about just wanting a quiet drink.

"I'm going fucking home before any more of you bastards starts something." She fumed, straightening her vest and jacket before storming from the bar.

Groaning heavily, like an alcoholic suddenly realizing that it's morning, Rorschach lifted himself carefully from the debris, paying no mind to the sobbing mass of Harry curled in a foetal state on the shard covered floor. Hopping over the counter, ignoring the pain his arm threatened him with, the vigilante began his retreat home to make repairs.

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**Special thanks to Carnageincminor for Betaing.**


	2. Chapter 2 Nowhere like stoneware

**No playlist required.**

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**Chapter 2 Nowhere like stoneware**

It was some months later, as 1978 rolled its ugly head around and winter began to release its relentless grips on the New York streets, that he caught sight of a familiar looking woman cursing the chilly March air. She was drunk; he could tell even as she managed to control her every step in a perfectly straight line. She reeked of beer and whiskey that reached his nostril from his hiding spot in the shadows.

After their last encounter he had considered feeling guilty for attacking the whore, having discovered later she really did have no information on the murder and that it was simply a vengeance killing by an ex-lover of the deceased, but his suspicions would not allow such feelings of remorse. She was obviously guilty of something or she wouldn't have had a reaction to his probing. Most likely involved with some form of crime on 12th, he had decided, after realizing her reactions had only begun with the mention of that particular street.

As he continued to watch the woman, cursing like a sailor through the dark streets, pondering her possible criminal activities, the sound of male laughter was brought to his attention. Whistles and cat calls soon followed with the usual utterances of 'hey baby' and 'lemme talk to ya' as the four men came into the vigilante's view stalking twenty feet behind the drunken whore.

"Hruum," Rorschach growled, climbing down from the roof he was currently perched atop, ready to counter a potential rape.

As the masked man padded softly to the bottom of the fire escape, he heard sounds of the woman's clapping shoes stop abruptly at the mouth of the alleyway he was concealed within, and watched as she turned to face the gang of skinheads. _Stupid_, he considered, watching her sigh in annoyance, _drunk and stupid._

"Hey baby." The first man chuckled, slapping the shoulder of the man next to him in a form of male bonding. "What you doing in a place like this so late at night?"

"Lookin' ta get raped, obviously." The woman retorted as her drunken state finally caught up with her body and caused her to sway gently.

"Well, I think we can help with that." The men laughed as they surrounded the woman. "Can't we, boys?"

"Never saed I wan'ed ta get raped by you." She frowned, cutting off their jeers of excitement.

"Not much you can do about that, honny." The first man made to grab her shoulder only to find his arm bolted upwards by a steady feminine hand and a foot crushing down on his shin, snapping it with a deafening crunch only surpassed by his high pitched scream of agony.

Shocked for a moment, the other three watched their friend's body crumple to the floor screaming at the top of his lungs before their faces contorted into sheer rage.

"You bitch!" The man to her left yelled, grabbing the back of her denim jacket and yanking her backwards as the man to her right pulled a fist back ready to deliver a blow.

As the punch came hurtling forwards, the woman ducked low, letting the jacket slide from her arms, leaving the first man holding the empty clothing. She punched her own fist into the assailant's abdomen, winding him a moment as she brought the second fist up into his downcast face, pushing herself into a standing position and turning suddenly to roundhouse kick the third man to the ground. The first man suddenly became aware of the empty jacket he was holding, caught in a daze, as she turned her attention to his raised fists still holding her jacket like a souvenir. One fist made contact with her left cheek before her hands managed to clutch his opposite hand, finding the jacket and wrapping it up and around his neck. As she pivoted behind him, the jacket turned into a noose when her foot collided with his rear, pushing him forward whilst pulling back on the entangled jacket.

He struggled, gurgling at the pressure around his neck as the third man, having found a large piece of wood from a nearby dumpster, swung it viciously at her head, missing by mere inches. It caused her to plummet onto the choking man's back and rebound onto the opposite side of his crouched form, yanking suddenly at the jacket till a resounding snap was heard.

Disentangling the jacket from the now dead man's neck and letting him slip despondently to the floor, the woman dodged a second roll of the wooden plank and slipped her jacket back on before catching the back swing of the wood between her forearms. She kicked the man directly in the crotch before tugging the weapon from his loosened grip and pummelling his doubled-over form with it until blood splattered the ground and nearby walls.

Panting heavily, she dropped the plank besides the two corpses and gazed briefly down at the whimpering man staring petrified at his shattered leg.

"Stop right there, bitch." The final man, the one she had somehow forgotten about, growled behind her clicking the hammer of a gun pointed to the back of her skull.

"Shit…" her eyes rolled.

"I can't believe you just … how could you just… THEY WERE MY BUDDIES! MY FUCKING FRIENDS!"

"Yeah, well, ma condolences."

"_You think this is fucking funny_?"

"Yes."

"This is a fucking gun!"

"Well done, Einstein. You know the difference between a gun and a rock. I'm sur' ya mother's very fuckin' proud of ya."

"SHUT THE FUCK U—"

The sounds of his final words caught short as the masked vigilante wrapped his arms firmly around the man's shaking neck and snapped it with ease. The gun tumbled from his dead fingers beside the woman's feet as she watched it grow still on the broken concrete. Straightening her clothes, the woman turned around, thumbing the inside of her loose fitting workman's jeans hanging off the hip.

"Ah shhhit. It's you." She gently slurred. "Not in the fuckin' mood for round twho t'night. Err, my fuckin' proba-shion officah is gonna kill me. You're like som' vigilante or som' shit, _you_ tak' the credit for this."

She swiped a lazy hand around at the bodies in gesture. The masked man watched her, with increasing astonishment, as her drunken state seemed to be far worse than he first realised. After a few seconds in which the woman creased shut her eyes and almost tumbled forward, she finally continued a drunken rambling of curses.

"I'm gonna be sick…" she staggered forwards into the alleyway before the sounds of retching could be heard.

Rorschach grimaced beneath his mask and decided it best to vanish from the woman's view, following her home from the shadows, though he doubted anybody else would survive an encounter with her, sober or not.

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**Special thanks to Carnageincminor for Betaing.**


	3. Chapter 3 Bayabee I need ya fuckin lovin

**This chapter requires the following track:**

**The four tops – Baby I need your loving**

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**Chapter 3 Bayabee I need ya fuckin' lovin'**

Rorschach's Journal, June 5th 1978

_Saw Dan today. Getting fat now he's retired. Buys too many groceries. Should relieve him of a few tomorrow. _

_Busy night. The liberal and the scum born in the sewers are attracted to the lights of the city like moths to a flame. Raising their hands up through the grates of the city. Feeling for warmth, comfort and distraction from the misery of their lives._

_Whores that no longer amuse them are tossed aside into bloody gutters. Children scream in hunger as they steal the food from their mouths. But as they edge closer to the flame I will burn th—_

Leaning against the grime covered wall, tucked tightly in the embrace of darkness, Rorschach paused his nightly prose and watched as a figure stumbled towards him, knocking whatever lay in its path to the sides and occasionally looking to take a tumble. The stench of alcohol and oddly lavender mixed with peppermint reached the vigilante's nostrils, informing his brain of the familiar woman's presence.

For a moment he was prepared to hop the dead-end wall of the alley, worried she would come across him in her drunken stupor and possibly attempt to fight like she did most nights they crossed paths. Instead, the woman veered to the side, finding the bare wall opposite him simply enchanting and began fumbling with her pants.

Curious of the woman's nightly activity, the masked man watched from his hiding place as he heard the zip of her workman jeans slide down but no move was taken to push the clothing to her knees as if she were about to defecate the already soiled concrete. Instead she made a shuffling that began in her neck followed by the sounds of tone deaf singing and the gentle trickle of urine colliding with the brick wall.

"Bayabee I need ya fuckin' lovin'! All-vloo yara never fuckin' near!" She 'hic'ed occasionally during her butchering of a sixties 'Four tops' classic. "Yar voyce I ovftun hear! Anothver daye, anothver nigh! I loong to... I loong to?"

"Hold you tight." The gravelly voice finished for her in case she attempted to continue that single line until unconscious.

"Ah! Huh ah! It's yoo!" The woman shuddered gently from the pleasure of having relieved herself. "I was wundarin' when yoo'd shoo ur shitty face."

Unperturbed by the woman's insults, Rorschach was currently mesmerised by the woman's apparent ability to urinate standing up. The sound of her zip retuning to full mast brought him suddenly back from his ponderings as the woman turned around and began shaking a finger at him as if trying to remember how to communicate like a human being.

"Yoo've been a busy movafucker!" She finally continued. "Lolsv of dead fuckers in the paypa."

"You're a cross dresser." The vigilante finally decided, though as he eyed her feminine form, he only became more confused.

"I'mma wha?" The woman staggered backwards, almost tripping into a pool of her own urine. "I'mma? Noooo. I was born a fuckin' woman! You hear tha god? I WAS FUCKIN' BORN A WOOOOMAN!"

Tossing her hands to the sky as if trying to mock God himself, she laughed with all the crazy tension only a drunk could permeate before the laughter leeched into the sounds of sobs. The woman, now ditching her upright stance to drop to her knees, held her head up with shaking hands as the tears began to burst from her body that shook violently with their passing.

Rorschach grunted as he watched the sobbing mess on the ground, trying to look anywhere else but at the degenerate whore. As soon as her weeping began, however, it ended as suddenly as it arrived, and she fumbled in her coat pocket for a cigarette and a lighter, igniting the stick now in her mouth and standing on unsteady feet as if nothing had occurred.

"Where the fuck am I?" She looked to the masked man, attempting to shrink himself further into the shadows, as she took a draught from her cigarette and blew a cloud of peppermint and lavender smoke.

"Somewhere you shouldn't be." He growled with a rusty voice before pushing himself off of the wall with a leaning foot and walking past the woman.

Rorschach's Journal, June 5th 1978 continued

_Followed drunken whore home again. Passed out on her back. Unlocked window and rolled on to side. Had to check she was woman. Definitely woman. Pisses like a man. Fights like a man. Drinks like a man. Possible lesbian. Smokes lavender and peppermint instead of tobacco. New drug? Confiscated her stash. Confiscated her whiskey as well. She could be a good vigilante if didn't drink so much. _

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**Special thanks to Carnageincminor for Betaing.**


	4. Chapter 4 Good things come in bottles

**No soundtrack in this chapter but the national lampoon magazine is the actual one created during that month and year the story is written in. **

**100 gamer score, Researcher achievement!**

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**Chapter 4 Good things come in bottles**

Walter J. Kovacs heaved his declaration of universal finality onto a well-practiced shoulder, and began his ritualistic wandering of the bustling New York streets. Most pedestrians cleared a path around the apparently homeless mess of angry red hair, ancient white scars and blue bruises. Colouring on any other creature would have gained instant recognition as beautiful, but the stench of the man, a mixture of sweat, grime and toxic aftershave, caused watering eyes and a distorted view of the dishevelled being.

Reaching a daily checkpoint, he paused to admire, without any admiration, the view of the faded newspaper stand and its overly fed owner fondling over a female form. It took a few moments for Kovacs's brain to decipher the information it was receiving, the scent of lavender and peppermint punctuating first, for him to come to the realization his nightly acquaintance was standing before him.

"-ot reading that shit. Got anything with a little fact or comedy?"

"Comedy?" Bernard, tugging his hat from his head to scratch at the scalp beneath, murmured.

"Yeah. Like some politician declaring freedoms we'll never experience. I could do with a good laugh."

"Oh. Ah, I know what you want!" Flopping the hat back on, the middle-aged bulge of a man turned abruptly and began fiddling with a few piles of folded paper. "National Lampoon."

A cigarette now lightly dangling from her cracked lips, she took up the proffered magazine and stared blankly at the cover depicting a little boy dressed as a cowboy whilst a Native American waited behind a door ready to axe him. A smile slowly traced her lips as she began reading the index of the magazine and wordlessly dug in her pocket for change.

"How often does this crap come in?" The woman looked over the magazine to the vendor currently counting the coins in his hand.

"Monthly. I get a new batch every first Sunday of the month." Bernard nodded as his calculations were finished and offered a few pennies as change. "Anything else I can get you? We've got the new Cosmopolitan in."

"Have you ever read that shit?"

"Once."

"And?"

"And? Well it-" The news vendor stuttered into silence as an overwhelming feeling of dread surfaced. "Ah it's you!"

Walter continued to stare at the woman flipping through her magazine, with unwavering blue eyes, as Bernard hurried with his customary paper. A short pause encapsulated the three, each as still as statues and Bernard trying not to breath in the heady scent of his regular customer, until finally the redhead moved his gaze to his vendor.

"New Frontiersmen." Bernard audibly sighed as Kovacs accepted the parcel of paper.

"You'll keep a copy for me." The rusty voice permeated the air and caused the woman currently folding her magazine under an arm to frown amidst lighting her lip-fastened cigarette.

"Of course."

"Good."

Walter handed over the correct change, as always, to the puffy man before the sensation of being watched reached his trained senses, and he followed the feeling back to the woman beside him. She continued to frown at something, though surprisingly not at him. Following her gaze to its point of conclusion, the redheaded vagrant found his eyes neatly focused on the front picture of his half folded newspaper. A monochrome scene of death and destruction tucked into a fermenting alleyway looked back at him.

Blowing a cloud of pale smoke, with Bernard quickly attempting to distribute the herbal scent away with a flailing hand, the woman dug into her pockets for a little more change and requested a New Frontiersman of her own. Upon receipt, her eyes flicked disinterestedly towards the sound of scraping wood on concrete to witness the dishevelled man lifting a great sign into place.

As she scanned over the painted words, 'the end is nigh', an unhindered upturn of the corners of her mouth surfaced.

"Amen, brother." She chuckled, shaking her head, and left the glaring street prophet to his business.

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The time was currently twelve minutes past one, the afternoon sun high in its orbit and attempting to add some colour to the otherwise inert city, as Kovacs paraded the street outside the police station. The woman, he'd been tailing on and off for some time now, was currently inside the station as she was every Tuesday afternoon. He assumed it was something to do with the probation officer she had mentioned before in her drunken stupors, though what form of criminal she was still eluded him.

Her activities, from what he'd seen, mostly consisted of drinking, fighting, swearing and watching spy movies in her flat before going to work. Her work seemed highly disorganised, often taking her right around the city, and involving musicians. Walter was sure the woman was not a singer, her tuneless singing of nights previous still ringing in his ears as if a bomb had exploded, and he never saw her with an instrument. He considered this highly suspicious and presumed these circumstances were the basis of her unlawful conduct but his investigations were still fruitless in discovering her master plans.

He'd considered interrogating her numerous times but on every visit he made to her apartment, to complete this task, he'd been unable to rouse her into consciousness. When he met her on the streets she was normally fighting or otherwise preoccupied, or worse, telling him how much she loved him in some drunken manner and calling him by a random name before stumbling home. He'd checked and checked again but there was never anything but whiskey and herbal cigarettes in her apartment. One night Rorschach had even taken to peeling her floorboards loose whilst she slept in the recovery position on the rug. It was beginning to infuriate the vigilante, searching for dirt so obstinately, that he could not find drugs or a stash of money. Even a lopped off finger would do.

As a nearby clock dropped its largest hand lifelessly to the six, the redheaded vagrant turned abruptly to the creaking of the police department's front doors. Predictable as always, the woman emerged from the rundown station, fists tightly clenched before being violently forced into her denim jackets pockets. She made a noise deep in her throat, a mix between a sigh and a growl, as she ducked her head to stare at the ground before jogging down the porch steps.

Taking off, in a long legged stride of defiance, the woman began a fuming excursion through the ambling crowds of people, refusing to budge a step as they knocked against her. As she rounded a corner a few blocks away from her starting point she suddenly stopped as if caught in some spider's web and turned into a little corner shop.

A few minutes later Walter watched as the alcoholic reappeared clutching a heavy brown bag and he glared at it in disgust. She was going to start drinking earlier than usual today, though some part of him relished in the idea that she would be too drunk by nightfall to leave her home and cause him trouble.

Continuing his observation from a distance, Kovacs was directed a few more blocks as the woman seemed to be growing faster and angrier footed. Something seemed very off with the woman today, her monthly cycle he mused, as they turned yet another corner before she disappeared into the park.

For a moment he thought he'd lost her in the dense summer foliage before hearing her foul-mouthed intonation apparently threatening someone. Stashing his sign in some bushes he rounded the corner in time to see her sitting alone on an old and dishevelled wooden bench. The brown paper bag, her only companion, sat beside her as she stared at her hands tightly clutching her knees. He watched as she swore again at a woman passing her by, for looking at her hunched form, before pushing her head back to look up at the sky. Her body leaned tentatively against the wrecked back of the woodworm mauled bench.

She sighed long and deeply, raising her hands to wipe the city's grime from her eyes, and turned her attention to the brown paper bag. Shaking, nervous, hands reached forward tentatively and peeled the creased opening of the bag until it was large enough to dip a hand within. Withdrawing a glass bottle, hues of amber flashing in the sunlight like wings of the fey promising childish adventures and better times, she brought it to rest on her lap and read the label with great deliberation.

It wasn't long before she began, as he had expected, to untighten the cap of the bottle. It was at this moment Walter was ready to leave and let the whore drink herself sober again, when something he hadn't expected happened.

Lifting the bottle high, the discontented woman turned the contents of her purchase upside down, allowing the liquid to drench her body from her raggedly brown hair down. As the last drops fell, she opened her cleansed eyes and tossed the empty glass container with as much force as she could muster, sending it hurtling across the pathway before cascading into dozens of tiny crystal shards.

The vigilante in disguise had to double take at the occurrences before watching in dumbfounded silence as she withdrew a thick silver lighter and lit the flame. It was his body that jumped into action, before his mind had time to react, instinctively diving forward and knocking the open flame from her grip.

"The fuck!" The woman screamed indignantly at the pile of messy redheaded human at her feet, now picking himself off the ground. "What is your fucking problem? God damn son of a bitch! I oughta fuckin' kick your puny shit infested cunt whoring a-"

The move was so sudden she wasn't sure if it had actually happened until the pain reached her foggy senses.

"Did you just… did you just slap me?"

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**Special thanks to Carnageincminor for Betaing.**


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